Thy face, O mother! Splendour of the Gods!
Behold! amid the glory of her hair
And light shed over from the crown thereof,
Wonderful eyes less passionate than Peace
That wept! That wept! O mystery of Love!
Clasping my hands upon the scarlet rose
That flamed upon my bosom, the keen thorns
Pierced me and slew! My spirit was withdrawn
Into Her godhead, and my soul made One
With the Great Sorrow of the Universe,